


Some Breaths Are Harder To Take

by glitteratiglue



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Episode Tag, F/M, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Past Brainwashing, Past Mind Control, Psychological Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-14
Updated: 2014-04-14
Packaged: 2018-01-19 09:47:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1464850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glitteratiglue/pseuds/glitteratiglue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The worst part for him is the loneliness and isolation; to not want to be around anyone because people can just be illusions, even the people you care most about.</p><p>Deanna helps Will feel safe again after his experiences on Tilonus IV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some Breaths Are Harder To Take

**Author's Note:**

> Set after episode 6 x 21 'Frame of Mind'. One of my favourite Riker episodes, where his reality is constantly breaking down and he faces the possibility his life on the Enterprise is a delusion and he's actually in an insane asylum. We of course find out that he's been brainwashed by aliens to think that's the case for the purposes of obtaining tactical information from him, but that kind of mindfucking would definitely have some far-reaching consequences beyond that episode, and I wanted to explore that.

He can't sleep. The hypospray sits on his bedside table— _“Something to help you sleep, Will”—_ that Beverly Crusher had insisted on giving him despite protests, but he has no intention of using it. She meant well, but to not be in control of his own body and give himself over to drug-fuelled unconsciousness is the last thing he needs right now.

He's alone with his thoughts. What no-one ever talks about is how dark it can be inside one's mind, a prison you cannot escape from. After Tilonus IV, he'd thought things would change. That taking down the set, dismantling it until his hands bled would have fixed him. There's nothing medically wrong with him, and the damage to his long-term memory has been repaired. But the scars remain. To have your reality systematically broken down and reassembled multiple times is an experience he wouldn't wish on his worst enreal

***

The worst part for Will is the loneliness and isolation. He doesn't want to be around anyone because it might just be an illusion, something else to drive him crazy. So he keeps to himself; keeps quiet, keeps still. It doesn't help.

***

Time passes – he's not sure how much, or if he even cares. It just passes.

***

Nothing's right. He completes his duties with standard efficiency, steadfastly ignoring the concerned looks of the crew who have noticed the absence of his easy laughter and teasing of them. He's an automaton, but without the personality and humour of Data. A shell. Every night his nightmares get worse. Every night it take him longer to get to sleep, until the point where he's not sleeping at all. He fights it, but the captain sees through him, and when one day he's summoned briskly to the ready room, he sees it as merely an inevitability.

“I'm having a little trouble sleeping.”

“Stop that, Will. I don't believe it for a damn minute. This is still affecting you, and I need my first officer to have his wits about him. Take some time. Data will be acting First Officer in your stead. Get some sleep, talk to Dr Crusher or Counselor Troi. Just do _something_."

The older man's tone is steely, but his eyes are soft with a pity and understanding that makes Riker uncomfortable. 

“I don't know what I can do, Jean-Luc,” he says seriously. “Nothing helps. Nothing stops the nightmares.”

“Nothing but time,” says his captain softly, and turns away, clearly thinking about his own demons that remain from his assimilation by the Borg. 

***

The chronometer on his desk shows it to be just past three in the morning, and he's still no closer to sleep. Instead he lies awake, wrapped in familiar sheets, wondering if he's as crazy as they tried to make him believe he was in the asylum on Tilonus IV.

The sensation of breaking down each level of deception within his unconscious mind has stayed with him, and it's a terrifying feeling. His chest constricts painfully, and each breath becomes harder to take, his measured, even breathing turning into gasps that are almost comical. He feels like he's dying, and yet he knows a tricorder wouldn't reveal a damn thing.

He taps the com badge on his chest. “Riker to Troi.” The words come out hoarse, faint but he knows she can hear them.

“Will?” Her voice is heavy with sleep, and instantly he feels guilty for waking her. But not all that guilty. He knows he's being selfish, but it has to be her. It's hard enough to let anybody see him in this state, and if it's going to be anyone, he'd rather it was Deanna Troi.

“Deanna, I-”

She cuts him off. “Hold on. I'll come.”

When she finds him sitting on the edge of his bed, robe half-off his shoulders, shaking and gasping like a fish, she says nothing. Just puts her arms around him and holds him, rocking him against her slowly. His fingers scrabble at the satin of her robe, pressing to the skin of her back, nails digging in painfully hard where they'll leave crescent-moon marks. 

“Ouch! Will, you're hurting me,” she whispers, and he murmurs an apology.

“I needed to see if you were -” 

“-real,” she finishes for him. “I know, I know.”

He hangs onto her like a drowning man, trembling while his body is wracked with loud, choking sobs. Deanna says nothing, but he knows it's painful for her to see him like this, to feel him hurting so badly. Her cheek is wet against his and he realises she's crying too, but he can't even feel bad about that, he needs her so much. 

 _Imzadi, it's alright. I'm real, I'm here._  

He starts, it's been so long since Deanna spoke to him with her mind, an intimacy they don't allow themselves as friends. Calm washes over him, and he can feel her at the edges of his mind, soothing him. Neither of them acknowledges it out loud, but it helps, to know that she's there with him in more than just her physical form.

She places her palm on his chest. “Breathe in and out. Slowly. You're hyperventilating, which means your brain is lacking in oxygen and it's affecting your perception of reality.”

“It's affected even without that,” he mutters darkly, but he obeys her, reaches up to cover her hand with his own and they feel the ebb and flow of each breath together, until his breathing slows and gradually returns to normal. He still doesn't sleep, and neither does she, but they lie down and their hands tangle together in the darkness.

***

On the third night, he passes out with exhaustion in her arms. He only gets an hour of sleep before he dreams of the asylum and wakes up screaming, but it's progress. 

A fortnight later, with Deanna beside him, Will Riker sleeps through the night for the first time since before the mission.

She still stays every night, and she's whatever he needs her to be. Sometimes they talk—not about what happened, he can't do that, not yet—about everything and nothing, because he needs to hear her voice to stop himself from screaming in the darkness. Sometimes he just holds her tightly, letting her presence ground him and the feel of her mind in his soothe him. Sometimes they lie side by side in the dark and he listens to her breathing, telling himself that she's really here and when he closes his eyes she'll still be here. If she's sick of being his crutch, she never complains about it. The relief he feels when he wakes and she's still there is immeasurable, and he knows she feels it too when she kisses his forehead and squeezes his hand with a sad smile. 

He knows she's seeing someone casually—a botanical technician—and though he'd never admit it, his interest is piqued. He wonders what excuses she makes as to why her guy can't stay the night, and if he should be jealous that this man gets to know her body even while she spends her nights sleeping curled in his arms.

*** 

It's been a month when Riker wakes in the night and realises that it's a pleasant memory that's roused him, not a nightmare. The Janaran Falls on Betazed, Deanna's long ringlets hanging in wet strands, the beads of water rolling over the curves of her naked body as he places a hand at the small of her back and brings her to him, tasting her sweet lips. 

He swallows, and does the breathing exercise she taught him to calm himself, but for an entirely different reason this time. She's here as a friend and it's not for him to screw that up, even in a moment of weakness. Even as a ghost of his usual self, he's still a man, and it's hard not to be enticed by her peaceful expression, mouth slightly open, her hair spread out over his pillow as her breasts rise and fall softly beneath her nightgown.

Deanna opens her eyes and smiles, obviously sensing the tenor of his thoughts. “Will.” 

His grin is wolfish.

“I take this to mean you don't need me to stay tonight, Commander?”

 _No. But I want you to._ He thanks some non-existent deity that she's not a full telepath like her mother, but no doubt she can feel the wrenching anguish that fills him as she leaves.

The hours after she leaves are some of the hardest he's ever had to endure. She has to know that, too, but they both know it's an important step towards recovery. His heart pounds, he clutches at his sheets in terror, but he forces his eyes to close and stay closed. It's the longest night of his life, but when his chronometer beeps to tell him it's time for his shift, he knows he's survived. He's still in his quarters, and he's still William T. Riker, First Officer of the _Enterprise_.

***

In the weeks that follow, things change, so slowly and incrementally that he barely notices at first, but they do change. The seconds and minutes pass, in a blur or at a slow, dragging pace that seems as long as a year, but they pass.

Riker learns to take comfort in the simple things – taking a sonic shower on the highest setting, beating the computer at chess, ordering his favourite Klingon food from the replicator. He can't quite bring himself to return to acting just yet, and he has a feeling Beverly understands that.

He returns to duty on a phased program, at the Doctor's insistence, and finds there is space in his head again to think about the ship, the crew, to give orders and to follow them. The crew are kind, but not to the point of being irritating. Captain Picard treats him no differently, and he's grateful for that. Worf delivers a homemade Rokeg blood pie awkwardly one evening, mutters something about Klingon food restoring one's strength; Riker has to smile at that. It's practically like a hug coming from the serious Klingon chief of security. 

He forces himself to laugh at the crew's jokes and join in their banter, to smile, and eventually it's not forced anymore. Deanna is still there in the background, keeping a respectful distance, knowing that it's still a source of shame for him that he couldn't sleep alone for a month.

One night he goes to Ten Forward, orders a drink and forces himself to sit there in the open space, even as the chatter echoes in his ears, a reminder of the constant white noise he endured courtesy of the Tilonian neural drain. O'Brien tentatively asks to join him (a brave act, Riker thinks later) and looks surprised when he accepts. They finish their drinks in silence, but it feels like a turning point, to be able to spend time around someone without wondering when they'll disappear into nothing.

 He invites Rebecca Quinn from engineering to his quarters that same night. The sex is awkward and fumbling, but it's soothing to give himself over to the hot, white blankness rushing through his mind. He's always enjoyed sex, finding the sensation of utterly losing himself in pleasure to be a welcome distraction from the responsibility of his career. This time is no exception, and Rebecca is a willing and responsive partner once they get over their initial awkwardness, but there's something dissociative about the act, as if he's watching himself experience it, and he thinks maybe she knows it too. They kiss, and she leaves, and he knows he won't see her again like this. It doesn't bother him.

He stares at himself in the bathroom mirror, hair rumpled, skin flushed and tingling, and wonders if he's ever going to feel like William T. Riker again. But, for the first time, he feels like he's getting there. And it's not sex, or the career that he loves, or even his friends that are helping him get back to who he was. It's Deanna, and the way she took care of him, selflessly and patiently, nursing him back to health one night at a time. 

With tremendous effort, he concentrates, trying to remember the mental techniques she taught him long ago on Betazed, and sends out a thought.  _I don't know what I would have done without you, imzadi. Thank you._

He feels her surprise register in his mind. _You're welcome, Will._  

_There's always a place for you in my bed. Wait...that didn't come out right._

Deanna's laughter echoes in his head. _I'll keep that in mind, Commander. Now, as Ship's Counselor, I suggest you get some sleep._  

Riker falls back on to the covers, and lets his eyelids close without fear.

**Author's Note:**

> Any comments are always appreciated!


End file.
